


I’ll be home (for Christmas)

by lustig



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Caretaking, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Seasonal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22149079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lustig/pseuds/lustig
Summary: Beside Richelieu, only Treville has decided to stay in the shared student flat over Christmas, instead of going home to visit his family.Because he's afraid of flying, Richelieu thinks. But he isn't, Treville knows.
Relationships: Armand Jean du Plessis de Richelieu & de Tréville (Trois Mousquetaires), Armand Jean du Plessis de Richelieu/de Tréville (Trois Mousquetaires)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 63





	I’ll be home (for Christmas)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strawberriesandtophats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/gifts).



> This is my Trevilieu Secret Santa Gift for strawberriesandtophats - Merry Christmas, little Owl! I'm already looking forward to April ;-)
> 
> Beta'ed by the fabulous Liadt.

“Don’t you think it’s time to stop?”

Richelieu twitched violently, startled out of _drifting off falling asleep just letting his eyes rest a moment_ and tried to straighten his back, the tension in his muscles from the slouching position his traitorous body had shifted into making him wince.

Treville stood in his door, already in his pyjamas, a cup of softly steaming tea in his hand and his hair already tousled. He leaned against the door frame and gave him one of his half-smiles upon the glare he received from his flatmate.

Before Richelieu had a chance to answer, the other student stepped into his room and sat down on the bed, disturbing the perfectly made cover. Richelieu’s jaw tensed.

“It’s close to midnight, Armand,” Treville continued, unperturbed, and pulled his feet up, changing his position to cross his legs. “You can continue your thesis tomorrow. You’ve been at it for hours. I can’t imagine you’ll manage to get something useful down onto paper, and I also don’t think you’ll want to redo all of tonight’s work because you were too tired to cross-check every little detail.”

Richelieu frowned, he didn’t want to back down so easily, but it was true. The last time he had looked out of the window, it was raining, but still light outside. Now, his room was dark, except for the too-bright monitor of his computer. He realised how tired his eyes were from trying to read his books without the help of more light – he had even forgotten to turn on his desk light – and finally nodded, reluctant, but Treville could be surprisingly insightful when he wanted to be.

He stood up, shut his books and his computer down, stretched his back and heard the tell-tale cracking of staying in one position for too long. Treville smiled at him, a full smile this time, and Richelieu managed a half-grin back.

“You want a cuppa? The water’s still hot, and I made enough for a second one.”

The half-grin turned into a full smile and he padded in the direction of the kitchen – surprisingly clean and tidy for a five-student apartment, but both he and Denis had bullied the other three into submitting to a structured cleaning rota, and after the years they had lived together, it worked really well now.

Also, Bernard, Toiras (The “other” Jean) and Denis had gone home to their families over Christmas, and had been gone for the better part of the week, leaving only Treville and him in their quiet apartment over the holidays. He had stayed because he wanted to use the quiet time to work on his thesis (politics, business management and religious studies), but also because he still wasn’t ready to face a Christmas without his brother Henri, who had died earlier this year in a car crash – and he wasn’t as close to any of his other siblings as he had been to Henri. Treville, on the other hand, had mentioned his family going for an extended holiday somewhere to the east, and because he didn’t like flying, had stayed behind instead of going with them.

A steaming herbal tea in his hand, he went back to his room, where Treville had got even more comfortable on his bed, leaning against the wall behind and dreamily looking out of the window. He was the youngest in their communal living, two semesters below Richelieu, studying something like history and sport to become a teacher, but when Richelieu, Bernard and Denis had been looking for more people to share the flat, Toiras – who _was_ in their year – had dragged the young Gascon with him and integrating the two sports students into their group had been surprisingly easy.

Richelieu sank down next to Treville, his movement fluid and elegant, like that of a cat, and sighted in contentedness. Their shoulders brushed, and now the warmth not only seeped into him through the cup in his hands, but also through the point where they touched, and, because he was so tired, he closed his eyes again.

“You want to go to sleep?” he heard Treville’s soft murmur, close to his ear.

“Will you stay with me?” The question had escaped him by accident. It had been something he had asked Henri a lot, when they were younger. He tensed, but Treville only shrugged, put his now-empty cup on Richelieu’s night stand and said: “Sure, why not?”

Richelieu was too perplexed to take his question back, and before he could say another word, Treville had taken his cup – also empty – and put it next to his own.

“You want to brush your teeth first?” Treville didn’t look like he wanted to himself, so Richelieu simply shook his head and, still surprised by how _easy_ it was, crawled under the covers when Treville held them up for him, before slipping below them himself.

It was like having a furnace in bed. The younger man radiated so much warmth that he wouldn’t even have needed his covers.

It felt nice. And Treville, ignorant of personal boundaries as he could be, simply slung an arm over him and pulled him closer, pillowing Richelieu’s head on his shoulders.

He hadn’t fallen asleep this fast for a long, long time.

_¸¸_ _♬_ _·~·_ _♩_ _¸¸♪·~·♫¸¸_ _Merry Christmas, Everyone_ _¸¸_ _♬_ _·~·_ _♩_ _¸¸♪·~·♫¸¸_

The absence of furnace-like warmth and a soft rustling woke him up, though he was too sleepy to actually move or pay closer attention to his surroundings.

Soft, murmuring voices reached his ear, which he identified as Treville’s after a short moment.

“Hi, Mum,” his flatmate said softly into his phone, keeping his voice purposefully quiet as if not to wake him – too late for that, but Richelieu wasn’t about to point that out.

“ _Hi, Jeannot,_ ” he heard a female voice answer, far away and tinny, and most of her words after the greeting were too quiet to be properly understood. So he kept listening to Treville’s responses, focussed on the low murmur, and relaxed. He nearly fell asleep again, when he heard the low sigh.

“I know, Mum. But he would have been completely alone if I had come with you. Even Denis went home for Christmas. And I don’t want him to be alone. It’s not good for him. Not after the thing with Henri. He’s- he’s drowning, and I –” A short break, then Treville continued: “Thanks, Mum. That- that means a lot to me.”

Richelieu felt a lump forming in his throat. Treville hadn’t gone away to spend Christmas with his family, because it would have meant leaving _him_ alone. He felt like crying, but taking too deep a breath would have betrayed him and revealed he had been listening in.

“Yes, Mum. You too. Greet the others from me! Will you call again, tomorrow? Alright,” there was a smile in Treville’s voice, “Merry Christmas, to you too, then.” He hung up, put the phone down on the night stand, as quiet as possible, and slipped back into bed.

Richelieu was shaking, with emotions he didn’t understand and couldn’t suppress, and Treville simply pulled him into his arms again and pressed a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Merry Christmas, Armand,” he murmured, holding him close and allowing him to bury his face in Treville’s neck.

He wasn’t alone.

Outside, the rain had changed into snow.


End file.
